


Smug Purple Asshole

by alexanger



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M, a disappointing lack of explosions, mind powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 01:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7293853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanger/pseuds/alexanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don't bring Alexander to any kind of important event. At least, not if there's alcohol involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smug Purple Asshole

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thelittlelion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlelion/gifts).



Alexander had promised himself he wouldn't get drunk. And he didn't exactly break that promise, he tells himself as he stares down the neck of a disappointingly empty beer bottle. He's not, you know, drunk drunk. Like, he'll probably still remember this in the morning. Maybe. He's just having a good time.

Or he would be having a good time, if there were more beer and if one particular asshole would stop staring at him.

Oh, he acts like he's not staring. He's across the room, talking to his cronies and tossing that irritatingly perfect hair. But every so often Alex will look up from whoever he's talking at, and catch Thomas “I smell like cinnamon” Jefferson looking away quickly.

Or, uh, maybe he's looking away. It's a little fuzzy. But Alexander is definitely seeing movement and it's very likely that Thomas is staring at him. It's just as likely that he's just shaking his hair in that infuriatingly leonine manner. But Alexander knows that Thomas knows that staring at him would piss him off, and anything that pisses Hamilton off is what Jefferson seems to really excel at.

Alex turns back to his conversation partner, who appears to have changed height, hair colour, eye colour ... and gender.

“Were you here before?” he asks.

“No,” says the woman sitting across from him. “To be honest, this seat was empty and I sat down because there's nowhere else to sit around here. I'm kind of beginning to understand why.”

“Oh,” Alex says. He lets that sink in for a moment before adding, “and another thing –”

“Oh my God,” the woman says, and she gets up and walks away.

That's fine. Ham uses the opportunity to whip his head around and glare at Jefferson. This time, he catches his rival's eye, and the unbearable asshole has the audacity to wink at him.

Alex decides to find more beer. He staggers to his feet, immediately smacks his shin on the coffee table in front of him, and decides maybe more beer will just find him if he stays still enough. That's how ambush predation works, he tells himself. You just sit still, and the prey finds you.

Yes, his mind agrees. Perfect. 

The only problem with his plan is the fact that it doesn't immediately result in alcohol. “Sad Ham,” Alexander announces to no one in particular. He fixes his eyes on Thomas, suddenly realizing that maybe if he thinks hard enough he can use telepathy to convince the big purple jerk to bring him more beer.

But as he stares, Alexander suddenly realizes something. More beer is cool, but blowing Thomas up with his mind would be awesome.

And if he has telepathy, what's to say he can't do explosions with his mind power, too?

So he does what he does – well, worst: he sits patiently and waits for something to happen.

It takes a very long time for him to realize that nothing is happening.

So long, in fact, that Thomas is storming over in his infuriatingly immaculate purple suit. “What are you doing,” he hisses, his wide mouth taut with annoyance.

“Blowing you up with my mind powers,” Alexander retorts triumphantly. 

“You're not doing that,” Thomas says.

“Well, I would be, if you'd just indulge me for once and explode.”

“Oh my God,” says Thomas, and Alex is reminded suddenly of just how many people have said that to him tonight.

“Here's the thing,” Alexander says, and he pauses for a moment while his brain scrambles to supply him with something to say. “Here's the thing,” he reiterates, and then he pauses again before repeating, “the thing. Here it is. You,” he says, “you piss me off. You piss me the fuck off. You shitty ... jerk guy.”

“Yeah? You piss me off too,” Thomas tells him. “Why do you keep staring at me? I told you to be cool. This is the opposite of cool.”

“So are you.” Alex looks around for someone to high five. He comes up short. That's fine. He settles for adding, “nice.”

“You can't ... you can't 'nice' your own burn. That's not how that works.” Thomas drags a hand down his face. “Can you please just chill out for like, thirty more minutes.”

Alex squints his eyes, combative and antagonistic. “Depends. What do I get out of it?”

“Oh my God!” Thomas jams his hands in his pockets. “Why do I, of all people, end up with the boyfriend that I can't bring to holiday dinners? My grandma will never let me live this down.”

There's a pause while Alex mulls this over. “Bring me another beer and I'll behave,” he bargains.

“Fine. Deal.”

“And Thomas?” Alex adds. “I fucking hate you, you piece of shit.”

Thomas kisses his forehead roughly and lays a backhanded smack on his shoulder. “I hate you too, you gigantic brat. Now sit nicely and don't yell at any more of my family.”

They exchange a smile. The second Thomas turns his back, Alex flips him off, and then settles back into the couch, content.

Fucking mind powers.


End file.
